Owl
by honest-brain
Summary: Mrs. Figg receives an owl from none other than Dumbledore asking for a favor.


**Owl**

Written in response to a prompt as part of the obscuro_2016 challenge on AO3 and tumblr. It's a collection of works (gen fics) about minor characters in the HP universe!

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The last time Arabella Figg received correspondence by owl was approximately five months ago. It was extremely uncommon, especially now, for her to receive such direct communication. These were dark times, such that even the muggle world knew to keep a somber mood to match the wizarding one. Domestic terrorism, she had heard them say, rising gang activity, possibly anarchists.

Being a squib placed Mrs. Figg in a unique situation. Knowledgeable about the wizarding world, but unable to fully participate in it always left a sour taste in her mouth. She lived in the muggle world, and kept up with two day jobs—one at the local animal shelter and the other at a pet grooming salon. It wasn't the most ideal of life situations, but it certainly made her side business much easier. Breeding part kneazle cats kept her in the loop in the wizarding world, and it was an easy enough job to do alone that she wasn't required to interact too much with wizards. Her husband was kind enough to take care of that aspect of the business.

Despite having one foot in the wizarding world, she rarely communicated directly with other wizards. Especially since the Dark Lord was rising in power. His reign of fear was everywhere, and it made Mrs. Figg nervous. She knew he hated those with impure blood—born from families without magic. Blood purity had always made her scoff. Her blood was the purest it could get and yet not a single drop of magic was present in her veins. If that wasn't enough proof that the dark wizard was full of nonsense, she didn't know what was.

But of course, bigotry wasn't always logical, and she knew no one could convince the Dark Lord or his followers otherwise of their blood purity beliefs. She only hoped that someone would put a stop to them soon, before they crossed over into the Muggle world. Well, more so than they've already.

The brown barn owl hooted at her, demanding her attention. Mrs. Figg tutted, annoyed at such an animal commanding anything of her. Honestly, sometimes the wizarding world made no sense to her. Using owls for communication felt outdated in the face of muggle technology. They could communicate instantly over long distances with telephones, and wizards were stuck using animals to deliver messages. It also didn't help that Mrs. Figg had never been fond of owls in the first place. She had read somewhere that certain cultures considered owls to be a symbol of death, and she certainly didn't blame them.

She reached carefully towards the owl for the roll of parchment attached to its leg, flinching back as it moved its head towards her. Nasty little thing, she thought after managing to untie the roll of parchment from its leg. "Shoo!" she said, waving her hand at it. "I haven't got anything for you, surely." The owl hooted at her and tilted its head sideways. Mrs. Figg frowned.

She unrolled the piece of parchment, another outdated piece of the wizarding world, and glanced at the bottom to see who had written. Another nicety about the muggle world, she decided, was that they put their names on the outside of an envelope so a person didn't have to open the letter to see who it was from. Her lips thinned as she read the name Albus Dumbledore. Another favor then, she thought.

Mrs. Figg couldn't figure out what her feelings towards Dumbledore were. On a good day, she was grateful to the man for his help, though limited as it was, in both business matters and advocacy in the Ministry of Magic for squibs. He was the one that had initially reached out and helped her reach out to a wider wizarding community about her kneazles. And though nothing had come to fruition, she did appreciate that he was willing to speak up and use his ministry influence on behalf of squibs and possibly other downtrodden people in the wizarding world.

However, she was also wary of Dumbledore. She had heard the stories, mostly from Mr. Figg, about how great Dumbledore's magic was. And she couldn't believe all the goodness of his actions came without a price. She knew men like Dumbledore were always trading favor for favor. Great men did not get by with goodness and purity of soul and action. That's not how the world worked.

The owl hooted, and she frowned. "Expecting a response, is he?" It hooted again. Owls unnerved her. She could never figure out if they truly understood people, or if they were specifically trained to never leave unless they received a response or were physically shooed away. She'd have to wait until Mr. Figg got home for the latter. She hated dealing with owls.

Mrs. Figg started at the beginning of the letter, but didn't get past the second sentence before she had to take a seat. He was dead. You-know-who was dead. Mrs. Figg wondered if the terror would stop. As far as she knew, he had quite a number of followers, and she couldn't imagine every single one of them stopping simply because he was dead. Bigotry was a monster in and of itself. It was like a hydra. Mrs. Figg wondered if things would get better or worse now that he was gone.

Mrs. Figg read the rest of the letter, but she had trouble retaining any information beyond the fact that one of the strongest dark wizards was dead. She didn't understand what the baby had to do with it. Surely a spell backfired or perhaps one of his own ranks had plotted against him. Mrs. Figg did not know much about magic but even she knew a baby had no power to kill anyone. That was simply absurd. That was the stuff of muggle fairytales, surely. She wondered if there was information Dumbledore wasn't telling her.

The baby, Harry Potter, was now an orphan, and while Mrs. Figg's heart went out to him, she didn't understand why he was important. But at the same time, she knew how superstitious the wizarding world was. His name would be heard everywhere if she had to venture a guess at what his fate would be. Famous by coincidence and tragedy.

And now Dumbledore was asking her to move to be close enough to keep an eye on him. All expenses will be taken care of, Dumbledore had assured her in the letter. Very minimal work. He had even offered to help with her kneazle business by way of investment. While not doing poorly, Mrs. Figg's business had taken a hit as You-know-who had gained power, and well, she could use the money. She'd have to talk it over with Mr. Figg first, of course, but Mrs. Figg knew neither of them were overly attached to their current residence.

Mrs. Figg wondered how involved she wanted to be in a world that automatically rejected her for her lack of magical abilities. She knew agreeing to look after the boy for Dumbledore would eventually pull her back into a world that she primarily communicated with through her husband. But she couldn't afford to lose Dumbledore's support and advocacy for squibs, even if nothing had happened in the Ministry yet. There was still time for change, and she believed it would be better with Dumbledore on the side of the wizarding world outcasts than not. She didn't think that Dumbledore would stop his work if she refused, but she worried that squibs would fade to the back of his mind. After all, how many other squibs could he possibly have kept in contact with? She worried she was the only one and thus the only reminder he had of this specific minority group.

Mr. Figg had once told her that fixing the wizarding world wasn't her responsibility. But Mrs. Figg could never forget her childhood and the stinging, steady loss of love from her family as she aged and still showed no penchant for magic. They weren't deliberately hateful like other pureblood families, but the neglect and slight verbal abuse was a cruelty all on its own. And she didn't want any other squibs to suffer as she had. She knew she had no power and no influence, and Dumbledore did. And it might not have been her responsibility to fix the wizarding world of all its prejudices, but that didn't mean she could just let it go on the way it was.

Standing up, Mrs. Figg walked out of the kitchen, ignoring the hooting owl. She went into the study and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. Mr. Figg kept rolls of parchment along with quills and bottles of ink in the house, but Mrs. Figg avoided using them when possible. Time consuming and bothersome, she always thought they were. She couldn't understand why the wizarding world was determined to be stuck in the middle ages when more convenient technology had been invented by muggles.

She would talk to Mr. Figg later tonight when he got home, but she had a feeling she already knew what the answer would be. She started writing a response to Dumbledore, stating that she would comply with his request. She would move to Little Whinging and watch over the baby. She also asked Dumbledore about any progress in creating laws to protect squibs and any actions to better integrate squibs into wizarding society. She didn't know if she expected a reply, but thought it was a good idea to at least remind Dumbledore of her position.

She finished the letter and read over it to make sure nothing was amiss. "Harry Potter," she said out loud, rolling the baby's name around in her mouth. "Oh, Harry Potter," she said with sadness. She could sense life already would not be easy for him.

Returning to the kitchen, she brought the folded letter with her. The barn owl was in the same place she left it, glaring at her when she entered. Mrs. Figg let out an annoyed huff. "Here," she said, thrusting out her hand with the folded letter. "I haven't got any string or anything, so you'll just have to take it with your beak." The owl hooted at her. "Doesn't Dumbledore want a response?" she asked when it didn't bother to come closer to her. It hooted again and hopped around on the kitchen table before spreading its wings and flying over to her. Mrs. Figg let out an alarmed screech as it took the letter in its mouth. She backed away, watching it flutter around her kitchen before finally flying out the window it came in through. "Bloody owls," she muttered.

She went to make herself a cup of tea and mulled over her decision. She thought of what she would say to Mr. Figg when he got home and sincerely hoped she had made the right choice.


End file.
